


In Your Arms, In Your Mind

by pressedinthepages



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Love marks, M/M, Other, Smut, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29179458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/pseuds/pressedinthepages
Summary: The trek to Kaer Morhen is a long one with few opportunities for lovers to indulge in one another. When opportunity presents itself in the warm safety of the long-awaited keep, things get spicy. When Eskel worries he’s indulged too much, you’re there to bring him back with gentle reassurance.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	In Your Arms, In Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> another collab here with @sometimesiwrite! This time, we were inspired by Eskel’s face in this stunning work by @journeythroughunknownlands. Thank you for this incredible piece! https://journeythroughunknownlands.tumblr.com/post/641848157531258880/there-is-some-triple-teaming-action-going-on-over

The golden sun of late afternoon—soon to be setting behind the peaks of the Blue Mountains—streams past the heavy curtains flanking the ancient window of Eskel’s room in Kaer Morhen. The keep is shrouded in a muted, patient silence awaiting the arrival of Eskel’s brothers and their traveling companions for the winter months. Distant sounds of masonry work suggest that Vesemir is diligently working on the near-lost cause of the outer wall. Eskel should be helping. Instead, he’s doing his fair share to contribute to the more immediate sounds of lovemaking that threaten to fill the entire dormitory wing if this keeps up.

It started innocently enough—a hot meal after the final trek up the mountain, then a hot bath while the fire warmed the chilly walls of the room. But your lips were especially luxurious against his, and hands soon found freshly-bathed skin far too enticing to leave un-appreciated. It had been a long journey, and with the cold weather only growing colder, it was no longer the season for starlit lovemaking. So when two lovers arrive at their destination, skin starved of hands and hands of skin, what else is there to do but make love with abandon?

Flecks of dust dance through the beams of sunlight as Eskel gasps up at you, hips rocking with sinful indulgence in rhythm with you, the glide of his girth a blessed, aching punishment for being the miracle that you are. You feel his fingers dimple the soft flesh of your hips and you know he’s relishing the give of you under his hands. You’re only about halfway to as good as it can be and he’s not stopping anytime soon. It’s been too long. Too long without the taste of you, the smell of you, the  _ sight _ of you—and Gods if you aren’t the most beautiful thing. The sun has shifted, casting an oblique ray across your body, accentuating the graceful, rolling countryside of your torso as it shifts and flexes, guiding his movement within you.

You roll your hips just so and sound escapes Eskel’s body, cut off by another puff of air as his head falls back, barely able to wrap his head around the reality of you. On top of him. Feeling this good. He brings a hand ‘round the back of your neck and pulls you down, brushing his lips over yours as you surround him, and your breath is hot and wet on his face when you let out a moan and slow your rhythm with the new angle. Your bodies adjust as you continue to roll and glide, new sensations blooming to the surface of your walls.

“Gods,” Eskel breathes, wrapping his arms all the way around your back, pressing your bodies closer, determined to feel as much of you around as much of him as possible. “Ho-oh, how’re you so good to me.”

“Because you’re  _ too _ good to me,” you whisper, and Eskel lets out a throaty groan as he thrusts up and forward, an edge of hungry desperation colouring his reverence. You let out a gasp and try to speak— _ fuck-shit-oh-gods it’s so good— _ but your breath is gone. You can barely locate any part of you in relation to anything else: not your hands, not your stomach, not your thoughts. The only thing you can place is Eskel, everywhere. In you, on you, under you. Hitting something deep and devastating as he grits his teeth, holding himself together as your lungs disintegrate and float away like paper confetti.

Even in this position of relative power, you are rendered completely at Eskel’s sweet mercy as he holds you tightly, feeling you completely, vulnerable and exposed to the relentless pleasure currently overwhelming you. But Eskel knows you’ve adjusted to him now. He can tell that there’s more depth for him to find, but it won’t happen from down here. So he slows a little and shifts so expertly, you can’t imagine how he managed it. But the room turns and now you’re below him. Looking up into his eyes as they shimmer with the sunlight still streaming through the window beside you. He’s breathing heavily, and his body is tight with concentration and the effort of control. He wants you, you can see it in his eyes and the way they darken again as he begins to press deeper.

You let out an indulgent whimper and he feels the strings holding him together begin to snap.

But he knows that taking you now for everything you can give him—with everything he has—won’t produce the earth-shattering results he’s been longing to hear tear from your body for the last two weeks. He redirects his impulses, intensifies everything he can and diffuses the rest, pressing, dragging, every muscle in his body refocused for endurance and precision rather than power and speed. 

You feel his hands start to tingle on your hips, and your skin calls to him, begging for everything he has, but he tries not to listen too carefully. His mouth, open and gasping, drags over every piece of you he can reach, breathing you into his lungs. His hips jerk as he loses the thread briefly, your breathless moan nearly enough to send him over the edge—and he's dangerously close. Eskel fits the slope of his nose right into the crook of your neck and he feels you start to finally, blissfully, completely meld with him.

His weight rests on top of you as he continues to roll, rippling across the surface of you as he glides effortlessly through your wet heat. Your gasps become more desperate, pulling high in your chest and he feels the texture of you change—now firmer, even deeper than you were just moments ago. He can smell your approaching orgasm and he lets out something guttural, half-growl, half-moan at the responsiveness of your body to his. He feels a shift inside him, too. 

Eskel’s pace increases as he chases your release with the search for his own and he's lost in you, wandering senselessly through the melted solder of his mind. He can’t find it in himself to worry. He holds tight, feeling the strands snap one after another, his ears aching to hear you shatter beneath him as he begins to thrust harder, faster, with wicked precision that sends a flare of heat down the backs of your arms as you feel the wave begin to crest

You arch into him, his chest pushing firm against yours as the world brightens and then—goes black. Everything falls away, leaving you raw and exposed to the man above you and you’re still so impossibly full with him, even as he threatens to fall apart himself. You keen and whine against Eskel’s neck and he clutches you tightly, one hand fisted in your hair, the other more than likely leaving bruises on your flank as he tries to bury himself under your skin—weeks spent together but not nearly close enough finally made up for.

The sounds of your approaching climax have Eskel fraying at the seams, desperately trying to hold himself together so that he can come with you—a shout into the crook of your shoulder as his thrusts turn erratic, and you feel yourself clench around him in a way you haven’t before, holding him tight as he buries deep and spills. And gods, you can feel the texture change in you as he drips, thick and warm along your walls and around him. 

Your breath comes in hot whispers against the pretty pink flush of Eskel’s neck, and when the world finally filters back into Eskel’s mind, and he is painfully aware of how tight he is still gripping you. He can feel the blood flowing under the pads of his fingers, under your soon-to-be bruised skin. You hum contentedly, but he doesn’t hear you. His heart in his throat as he swallows back the sick feeling of possibly having hurt you.

Eskel releases his grip almost immediately and scans your placid, dewy body as you pant and tremble beneath him. Panic starts to bubble in his chest. He swallows again. Your eyes are still closed, but he feels a little relief to see the hint of a smile tug at the corners of your mouth and eyes.

"Love? Talk to me, please."

You blink open one eye with a quirk of your brow, letting the smile pull your lips up. “Eskel, you just absolutely —” And then it hits you, the creases on his forehead, the tight forward slump of his shoulders, the emptiness of terror that so rarely decorates Eskel’s eyes. You reach up, smoothing your fingers down the harsh planes of his cheek, doing your best to chase away the darkness that dares threaten to pull him under.

"Did-did I…? Are you…?"

"Hushhh now," you coo, pressing a delicate finger to his lips and coaxing him back down to the pillow. "I made you a promise, didn't I? That I would tell you the minute I feel something I don’t want. And you know that I would never, not a single time, lie to you, yes?"

Eskel nods and moves a piece of hair away from your forehead, his voice husky and vulnerable in your ear, “I can’t shake the feeling that… you have bruises.” He rubs his fingers over the marks on your hip and you can feel his hands trying to take it all back, wipe them away.

“And have you ever considered, my darling,” you murmur, taking his hand away to kiss the calloused tips of his fingers, “that I might enjoy having your touch linger on me after we’ve pulled apart and the day has turned over again?”

Your witcher traces the purpling fingerprints on your hip again, his brow furrowed in thought. "You like these," he states—as much for himself as to confirm with you.

"Mmhmm," you nod and kiss his shoulder. "It reminds me of the passion we share, how close you hold me to you when everything falls away."

"I never thought of it that way..." he drifts off back into the foggy recesses of his mind and you know he's blaming a part of himself that only exists because the rest of the world has put it there.

“Eskel,” you press a kiss to his chest, pulling his molten gaze back to yours, “don‘t go there, stay with me. Keep me in your arms and your mind. I want you, all of you. As you are. And I want you to have me in return.”

"And you'll tell me if I—"

"Always. I promise, I will tell you if something is too much."

"Even if—"

"Even if one or both of us is getting close. Come on, lie down with me. Don't linger on unhelpful thoughts. I've told you I like it, and you know I love you. Let that be enough."

Eskel sighs, sinking back into the embrace of the blankets around him and your arms encircling him. “You’re always enough. More so. More than I think I deserve sometimes.”

“And?” You raise a brow, and you know that he knows that you hate when he talks like that.

“And,” he laughs, “you’re helping me see that I’m enough for you.”

You kiss his forehead, "Good. Now maybe one of these days I'll be able to convince you that you're so much more than I ever could have imagined finding in this lifetime."

"Hmmm this all sounds very advanced."

"Not at all, it's easy," you say, lazily tracing a finger through his soft dusting of chest hair. "You just have to take my word for it."

He breathes deeply and pulls you closer, falling back into the completeness of everything as he feels your pulse slow against his chest. The sweet smell of your sweat mingles with the leftovers of your arousal and the sharp musk of your releases. 

And just like that, he slips into meditation. Completely unintentionally. He doesn’t sleep—that would mean losing this feeling. Instead, he settles into it so deeply, it’s all there is. Just you. His place of power.

You feel the thrum of his chaos find its place under his skin, tingling and rumbling through his bones. It’s a foreign feeling, almost frightening, but it’s also warm and welcome, a part of your lover that you’ve never experienced this intensely, this intimately—the timelessness of him, the ancientness of his magic. You nestle impossibly close to him, holding him while he allows himself this rest, and allow yourself the same.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @pressedinthepages and Margaret @sometimesiwrite


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